Shot in the Dark
by BlueBird Blues
Summary: When MI6 becomes the target of a cyber-terrorist attack, the majority of Q Branch is lost in the explosion. As Bond struggles to find his place in the brave new world, the newly instated Q is eager to make her mark in the shadows of the British Secret Service. Follows Skyfall and beyond / features gender-bent Q.
1. Chapter 1

After falling head over heels in love with Skyfall, I knew a fic was on the horizon. And while every character was fantastically written and acted I took a special liking to Q. I adore Ben Whishaw's performance, but in the back of my mind I was wondering what Q would look like as a woman; how it would change the dynamic of the relationship. So while this fic will be exploring the relationship between Bond and the Q that inhabits Skyfall, it will be a gender-swapped Q. To be clear, I'm not replacing Ben's character with a brand new Q, I am simply reimagining Ben's Q as a woman. I guess that's all I will choose to say at this point.

As always, I am very grateful for reviews, feedback and whatnot. I'm ecstatic that anyone reads my mediocre summaries and clicks my stories! So thank you for clicking and thank you for reading!

* * *

Shot in the Dark

Chapter 1

* * *

"Remind me again, Tanner, why this is necessary?"

Agent Tanner had had his share of abysmal days. Most of them revolved around the mood of his director and boss. He knew M well. Her idiosyncrasies, her facial expressions, her preferences. It was his job to know what was expected of him before it ever was expected of him. Having lost what Tanner considered to be M's preferred agent, 007, the mood that hung over the last several days had been toxically steely.

"Standard procedure." He said for the third time that day.

Not even a week had come to pass since the loss of the NATO drive and the death of James Bond, yet already more disconcerting news had surfaced during the annual testing's.

"Did he really test so poorly?" M questioned, still not convinced.

"Q's physical evaluation was spot on as per usual. But…the psych evaluation…" Tanner paused a moment, choosing his words carefully. "His mind is slipping away. It happens to the best of Q branch. More often than not I'm afraid."

M huffed with begrudging acceptance. Having not managed to procure even a wink of sleep since the death of arguably her best agent, she was a victim to a cloudy, aching head. The standard three cups of tongue blisteringly hot coffee, doused with a splash spirits, had done nothing to remedy the sharp pain in her skull, made only sharper by sleep deprivation.

M knew that Tanner and the board were right in looking cautiously to a future without the current Q still employed. There was only so much that could be accomplished with an aging Quartermaster. As fond as M was of the Major, she could not deny that his performance had been slipping steadily since his 79th birthday some several months passed.

There was no more denying what needed to be done, Major Ian Boothroyd, known to most as Q, would have to be replaced. He would be discharged with the highest honors and set about with a generous pension so that he could live the last years of his life in beauty and peace, as he deserved. But there would be time for that later.

Before setting the current Quartermaster loose on an unsuspecting world, MI6 would have to confirm that a fitting replacement could be appropriated.

So far, their search had been a bloody disaster.

M, motioning Tanner forward, plopped the latest applicant file into his awaiting hand. With a curt nod and a dismissive wave, the files' fate was decided.

"There's one last option to see today."

M scoffed, all hope of finding a reliantly capable new recruit dashed long ago.

Tanner, sensing M's defeat, commented: "We could always hire from within."

M shot her assistant a glaring look. "You know very well we can't."

Major Boothroyd had been head of the Q Branch since the dawn of the Cold War. While his innovations, service and nature had served MI6 well for almost 50 years, in recent years his ramshackle ways had resulted in detracting rumors. Q Branch, they said, was falling behind. The world of technical warfare had sprung to life almost overnight and MI6 had been notoriously slow to adapt. In light of this, when word of Q's imposed retirement slipped through the cracks, the pressure to replace with him with a more cyber-sensitive candidate had been palpable. M fully agreed with the notion, but she felt a twinge of guilt in forcing Boothoryd out, only to trade in for an undoubtedly younger model.

This was wartime, however and wars were no longer simply fought on the land, under the sea or in the air. To combat the ever shrinking world of guns, battlefields and bodies, the latest technologies and their creators were highly sought after. The best of the boffins had to adapt themselves to the hostile environments that so desperately sought their guidance. Most had become invisible in order to survive capture or assassination. Identifying, locating and contacting the right candidates had been a feat all in itself.

"Well," M said, thoroughly unenthused. "Let's get this over with then."

Tanner nodded, handing M the last of the files. M accepted it.

"Give me 5 minutes."

With another nod, Tanner left to retrieve the latest candidate. Of the seven possible successor's they had managed to dig up, only five had made it into the office for continued questioning and analysis. Of the five, only three had managed to pass the tests required of all MI6 agents. The first two interviews had only managed to leave M miffed and steely eyed. She was not impressed.

So without any sense of positive anticipation, M review the information collected.

_Amanda Clark. __**Country**__: England. Current __**Residence**__: Unknown. 28 years of age. _

M sniffed. She was the youngest applicant so far. Bypassing the qualifications that had already been deemed acceptable by several members of Q branch, M skipped around, hardly interested in what she would find.

_**Word Association**__.__** Country**__: Home __**Heart: **__Machine __**Gun: **__Necessary __**Bird: **__Flight __**Agent: **__Tool __**MI6: **__Opportunity __**Man: **__Insufficient _

A sliver of a smile teased at M's list. But this was just a psych test, nothing more.

As the procedure for accepting applicant's was in no way voluntary, those considered for a position were allowed several pages to state their case once the position was offered to them. Both of the candidates she had seen had written long paragraphs touting their accomplishments and praising their own efforts.

In the space provided, Amanda Clark had simply written:

_APPEARANCES CAN BE DECEIVING. _

The shorthand was as appalling as the other's had been, just as small and tricky to read.

Her curiosity peaked, M looked up from the report and saw Tanner approaching her office, Amanda Clark in tow.

"Send her in." M called, quite ready to be done with this whole farce.

* * *

Amanda Clark was a sliver of a woman. Though she was rather tall, her slight build suggested she was younger than what her report specified. Her skin was of an olive tone, her face somewhat speckled, filled by large dark eyes framed by equally large glasses. Her thick mussed hair was dark, almost black, and cropped short. It was long enough to cover her eyes if the need presented itself.

She was dressed in slim black trousers, short-heeled oxfords, a pressed collared blouse and a black blazer that looked to be a size too large for her frame.

"Ms. Clark-"

Before M could properly begin the usual long winded explanation highlighting the nature of the position, she was interrupted by the smallest of sniffs. To an untrained ear, the sounds would've registered as nothing more than a sniff but to M, who had spent a good chunk of her career shooting down her doubters with the marksmanship of an old pro, knew better. Immediately, she sensed a speck of derision.

Tearing her eyes from the report, M accosted the young little thing with such heat that could burn a hole through the sun.

Seemingly unfazed, the young woman shifted somewhat uncomfortably in the chair, and cleared her throat.

"Forgive me," she said in a tone that was neither apologetic nor understanding. "It's Ms. Birch. Margaret Birch. Maggie, to those who know me."

She adjusted the glasses, placing them further up the bridge of her nose before adding: "Which is a number I can assure you, can be counted on one hand alone."

M said nothing, her silence demanding the need for more elaboration.

"Amanda Clark is an alias." The woman, Maggie, said with an air of apathy. "One of several. To be fair it is my last resort. Aside from your organization, only the CIA has managed to track me that far."

Her words were spoken with such courtesy that M presumed it was meant to be a compliment.

"Very well, Ms. Birch." M said, reflecting Maggie's apathy. Clearly Q Branch had done the best they could, but this time around it just wasn't good enough. She wanted to be done with this process as soon as possible. "As a hacker do you-

"No." Maggie interrupted again, this time more icily. When M met her eyes again, they were almost black with controlled anger.

"I'm not a hacker." She explained pointedly. "I used to be, eons ago. I've taught hackers, masqueraded as one from time to time. But I am not one of them."

"What are you then?" M said, already made impatient by the act.

Maggie leaned forward ever slightly, a confident grin playing at the corner of her lips.

"An architect." She said, a spark of light flashing in her eye.

M was once again struck with a snap of curiosity, but she was still far from convinced.

Maggie, seeming to sense that her point had yet to sink into the director's thicker-than-blood skin, continued.

"I'm a creator. I build things. I take old systems, strip them down and re-imagine them so that they run more efficiently. Consequently…"

Maggie's voice drifted away from a moment. She seemed to be contemplating her next move.

"At the risk of sounding boastful, I feel as though you should know…the algorithms at the heart of both Mr. Fellows and Mr. Cooper's work are nothing more than poorly coded imitations of my own."

She was referring to Roger Fellows and Jameson Cooper. The two men M had just interviewed.

"If they seemed at all nervous…" Maggie said, her voice strangely lilting. "That may have been partly to do with it."

"I see." M said, her poker face still holding strong. "So I'm to believe you consider yourself the best person for this position."

Without hesitation Maggie answered: "Although I have yet to be briefed on every aspect of this position…yes."

"If you believe that, then by implication you believe that we here at MI6 currently do not employ the best person for this position."

"Naturally."

"Then I must ask you, Ms. Birch, to please illustrate the ways in which my organization is lacking."

Maggie, lips tightly pursed, smiled. It was meant to be a trap she knew, but it was just the sort of question she had been hoping for.

"From what I've seen today, let me just say that excess is no advantage. Invisibility, ma'am, that is the key. I prefer to operate in a more organic fashion. The simplest solution is always the best solution. The more variables involved…the more complications arise."

"Please Ms. Birch, I did ask you to board your soap box, I asked you to-'

"You would like me to point out what it is your R&D Department is doing wrong? Well, for starters too much time and money is spent on the development of gadgetry that will most likely reach a state of uselessness in three to four years time. That and I'm afraid your efforts against cyber-warfare are all but entirely obsolete."

There is was again. That word. It had been circling M for some time now…obsolete. With swiftness well past her age, M gathered the stray pages of the report, slapped them together and let them drop to the desk.

"Is that so?" M said. When Maggie Birch offered no response, M pressed her further. "And, assuming you are correct, what exactly would you have us do about it?"

A look of stern vigilance replaced the cool collected . There was little she could do with the limited access she had been privy to in the past five hours. Still, if she stood any chance she would have to come up with something.

_A shot in the dark…_she thought, somewhat thrilled.

For several seconds, M's office pulsed with silence as Maggie considered her options.

"To start, I would decrease the size of your cyber footprint. For an organization of such importance and depth it's far too large. You're ripe for targeting, I'm afraid."

"Is that so?" M said bitingly.

"It's an easy fix, I assure you." Maggie said, either entirely ignorant to the animosity being shot in her direction or stupidly aware of it. "Secondly, I would go about closing old holes."

"Old holes?"

"Yes. In this line of work even the best of agents are a liability. Even me…_if_ I were to get the job. I've no doubt you've written a fair count of obituaries, lost track of agents…but you haven't seen all the bodies have you? One or two have slipped through the cracks, whether that be by MIA or death in the field, you can never really be sure…whether or not the dead stay dead."

Maggie spoke in a small withered murmur, but her words came quick like the wind.

"Old holes, ma'am, everyone has them. If don't patch them up, you run into complications."

M considered the young woman's words, more out of politeness than anything else. She didn't have walking , talking liabilities. She had made quite sure of that.

"I just have one final question for you, Ms. Birch."

"Yes?"

"You seem to think yourself well established. Why choose to accept such an offer?"

"Contrary to the nature of my field, I crave stability." Maggie said, once again adjusting her glasses. "I'm tired of flitting around in the shadows. Besides…a little bit of espionage…sounds like a right thrill to me."

"I see." M said, with a wave of her hand she motioned to Tanner, who stood just on the other side of the glass doors that stretched to the ceiling.

Maggie, understanding, stood up.

Tanner entered again, waiting to accompany her to the exit. Adjusting her collar, Maggie nodded to M and turned to leave.

As she reached the door, however, she turned back.

"Ma'am?"

"What is it?" M snipped.

"I'm afraid I must ask…That is, I understand that this is most likely the last time I'll be seeing you."

M looked up. "How very perceptive of you."

A wry, thin-lipped smile spread over Maggie's face. "It's because of my…experience."

"The lack of it yes."

"I thought as much."

M, a fleeting breath of pity sweeping over her, said. "Ms. Birch, I do hope your don't take this lying down."

Maggie Birch offered only a grim smile and a faraway look. "Never, ma'am, I consider such a reaction to be in terribly poor taste."

* * *

_**Three Months Go By…**_

* * *

With each passing day, it was harder and harder for Maggie Birch to deny that the money would soon be gone. After dipping a toe or two into the underworld she had yet to find even a sniff of a job in the rancid air. Which meant that she would soon have to move on. Once the money dried up, the trails she had worked so hard to keep cool would begin to regain their warmth. There was only so much she could do without electricity and a secure connection.

She didn't want to move. She was a true Englander and, after spending and good eight months in the country (the first time she had been in her homeland for almost 5 years), she found herself quite unwilling to leave.

On this particular morning, she had woken to a grey winter day. Though it was too early for snow, ice was in the air and it snuck into her flat by way of an open window in her kitchen.

Looking to the watch wrapped tightly around her thin wrist, Maggie noted that it was close to noon.

She had fallen asleep sometime during the night out of mere necessity and she guessed that she had been able to store up close to seven hours of sleep.

_I must've needed it. _She thought, shaking off her tired eyes and slipping out of bed. Snatching her glasses from the nightstand, Maggie yawned.

After pulling a thick navy cardigan from her closet and slipping it over her grey gingham button up, she made her way downstairs.

The flat she had managed to get was perfect in every way. Just large enough for her needs, Maggie spent most of her time in the quaintly tiled kitchen and stately study. When she reached the bottom step she turned to the right and slipped into the kitchen.

As she waited for her tea to warm and her toast to crisp, she thought vacantly about what the hell she was going to do with herself next. Every option seemed more absurd than the last.

After spreading a thin layer of orange jam over her toast, she dropped one onto a small China plate and popped the other into her mouth, biting into it to hold it in place. She then picked up the plate with one hand and grabbed her steaming mug of tea in the other.

She exited the kitchen, heading down the narrow entry hall to retrieve that paper that had been pushed through the mail slot in the early morning hours.

Just before the door to the left lay her study. Inside was a rather marvelous set up. Her main desk faced outward to the boxy bay window. Her laptop lay on top of it, along with three mobiles and several of her own inventions. Another, smaller desk and puffy chair sat across from the desk. Both were littered with news clippings, notes, wiring and maps. She had placed a small flat screen television just above the fireplace across from the entrance. As a precaution she always left it on, tuned to the news so that she could be well informed.

As she passed it, still en route to her paper, she glanced at the television. Bending down, Maggie placed the plate of toast on the floor, swept the rolled paper under her arm and grabbed the plate again.

_Wait…_

Stepping backwards, she leaned her head just past the door, staring harder at the television.

"Breaking News: Only minutes ago reports came in that the building housing MI6 was victim to an attack. Witnesses calling into the station claim that an great explosion occured. We have now learned that several are presumed dead and dozens injured, all hospitals in the surrounding area have been prepped and are now receiving patients…"

The news feed was interrupted by three heavy knocks.

Maggie, still knowing on a mouthful of toast turned her head to the door.

Swallowing loudly, Maggie placed the mug, and plate on the stand that sat against the wall below a small aging mirror. Her paper, all but forgotten fell from its tentative grasp and hit the ground with a whisper.

Peering through the peephole, Maggie recognized the two men that stood on the other side. The smaller of the two had driven her to MI6 Headquarters.

Before opening the door, she allowed herself an anxious smile.

_Either they believe you're to blame…_She thought, opening the door.

The suited men nodded briskly in unison, before the larger of the two handed her a thin white envelope. They left without saying another word.

…_Or I was right. _She finished, watching them go.

Maggie turned the envelope over, her heart hammering in her chest. It was clean, save for a small navy stamp punched at the precise middle of the page. It read:

_**Q.**_

* * *

Alright! 1st chapter! I wanted to take a look back a bit before Skyfall begins, at how Q was hired as it's never really discussed in the movie. It is implied that Q was very new to MI6 at the time of his introduction (M's line: "New Quartermaster…hasn't set up shop yet"). I do plan to follow the plot of Skyfall and then move on to a plot of my own making

All that said, I would love to get some feedback from readers. So please do let me know your opinions.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm thrilled that people are showing an interest in this fic! And I hope that the interest continues! Thank you to all those who reviewed, I am so grateful for your words and advice. And with that, we're off!

* * *

Chapter 2

A Promising Career in Espionage

* * *

"Welcome to MI6."

It was well established that when most people were affixed with a small army of unyielding stares and dense silence they would shrivel under the fright of it all. Whether or not Maggie Birch was one of those people was about to be decided.

From the moment Maggie had stepped through the rusted blue door and into new territory she had been accosted with curious eyes. The heavily armed guards that were stationed at the entrances, the keenly dressed secretary that manned a lone desk and rather complicated looking phone line; even Tanner had ventured a stare or two over his broad shoulder.

Maggie was quite pleased to realize that the sudden bombardment of rigid attention caused her no discomfort. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Years of searching and wondering and hiding behind her work seemed too far away to be bothered with.

Tanner led her through a narrow, brick-lined passageway and into the largest bunker. They stood atop a staircase, looking down at several rows of desks. It was an impressive sight, but still very incomplete. Men in suit and women in towering heels bustled about and rummaged through boxes. As they walked, he would point out various agents muttering names and positions, but no formal introductions were made.

He led her up a flight of stairs that looked as though it had been newly built not even 24 hours earlier After taking a sharp right, Maggie realized it could only be M's office. A thick slab of glass served as both door and wall.

Maggie guessed that, after the bombing, MI6 had chosen to strip down to bare bones. M, looking as stern and as stony as she had been at the last interview, sat behind a desk larger than Maggie's bathroom back at the flat she would never see again.

She was not alone. A smartly dressed man with a hairline that had just begun to recede sat in the chair farthest from the door. With his cleanly pressed shirt and buffed suspenders comprising an altogether immaculate style, he looked to be a bureaucratic type. M sat behind her desk, though she did not look up from a file.

Taking her seat next to the man, Maggie glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of the older man who seemed rather befuddled by her presence.

Looking back to M, she waited patiently for something to be said, but the party of eyes just stared on expectantly. Considering the circumstances, she knew it would be terribly improper to laugh and she couldn't fathom why she was tempted to do so. She fought the urge with every underdeveloped muscle in her slight frame. Instead she bared a pursed, contented smile.

Tossing her head back to force the hair from her eyes she said, "I take it I was right, then?"

M bristled like a wounded peacock in funeral dress. "That is something I expect you to tell me."

Maggie nodded. "Of course."

"However before you get to that, there are other matters that need attending to."

M explained that the space procured for Q Branch was still waiting to be outfitted.

"You will meet with several members of our team, they are to provide you will anything and everything you will be needing."

M continued to speak, though her words sounded forced and brittle. Every so often, when she prattled on about new regulations and safety concerns, she would shoot a lethal look in the direction of the older man.

After some time, M finally finished and looked to Maggie expectantly.

"Am I to ask what happened?" Maggie questioned, trying to sound unaffected.

M, still as prickly as a desert cactus, merely looked to Tanner.

"The assailant hacked into our environmental control system, locked out the safety control protocols and turned on the gas. All of which we believed to be impossible." He reported dutifully.

"We have reason to believe they hacked into my files." M added with only a small dash of admittance.

She had been right. "Why?"

"That is none of your concern." M said.

"What exactly do you want me to do, then?" Maggie said, purposefully matching M's snippy disposition. "Find out who did it? That's not possible if you don't supply me with necessary facts."

She was met with silence once again. It filled the room like a haze, dampening the mood all the more.

"I see." Maggie said, shifting in her chair. "Well…given the pittance of information I've been allowed and our last conversation…I'd venture to guess that this was an inside job. Whether the assailant was "inside" at the time…I can't know that. But…If you'll let me look at your computer, I'll see what I can do. That and…assure such a breach would never happen again."

"You spoke with Fellows?" M said finally.

"I did." Maggie answered, unable to contain the upward twitch at the corner of her lips. "He seems rather put out about whole arraignment."

"That is none of my concern. I expect you to have everything sorted out by the week's end."

"Gladly."

M, nodded succinctly. "Good girl."

She stood up and both Tanner and the well-dressed man followed suit. Maggie was the last to stand, fixing her coat as she did.

"Tanner will take you along to your next appointment."

Maggie nodded and spared a polite glance towards the man.

"I want to thank you for being candid with me. But for the sake of your survival here, I would advice you to never do it again." M said.

"Of course," Maggie said. After a slight pause she played another guess. "…mum."

Choosing to ignore the still unnamed man who had yet to say a single word, Maggie turned away and followed Tanner to the door.

"One more thing."

Maggie stopped next to Tanner who was holder the door out for her.

"I understand from your experience that you are no stranger to living in the shadows. You should know that, devoting your life to them is a far greater thing."

"Understood."

* * *

M watched them go, wondering once more if she had made the right decision. It was far too late for something to be done about it now, however. She had given the girl every chance to step down. It seemed that she was game and M was never one to deny the gutsy their chance on the battle field. A willing soldier, no matter how inexperienced, was an advantage in her eye. If her many years commanding the field had taught her anything, it was that the heart could far outlast the mind. As she did with the hiring of every new agent she released the last of her doubt, never to think on it again.

"Come on then Mallory," M said, having not forgotten her unwanted guest. "You've been biting your tongue all morning. Why don't you give it a rest?"

"She's a child." Gareth Mallory said; his tone accusing.

"She was the best of the candidates I saw." M said dismissively.

Mallory suspected that she was hardly listening to him, that she saw him as nothing more than a trained suit.

Still, he persisted. "Then maybe you should have kept looking."

"This department cannot function without an efficient Q branch. You told me my methods were antiquated, well I've just drawn a brand new card into my hand."

Mallory ignored the strategic jab. "You had three months to begin another proper search."

"Forgive me, but I was employing every operative under my command in the search for the missing drive. As was recommended to me by you and your…constituents."

M watch Mallory all but jump up from his chair. She knew she had struck a nerve. She had meant to.

"Did you ever stop to think the chances you take are not worth the trouble?" He challenged.

M stared down her opponent, her answer as clean as his finely pressed shirt.

"No."

* * *

"Introductions will have to wait I'm afraid." Tanner said, his pace hurried. "There's far too much to be done."

"Of course." Maggie said. "Before we begin though, could you point me to the loo?"

"Ah," Tanner said. "Right this way."

Tanner made an abrupt stop and they turned around. He offered to wait and Maggie said she would appreciate it.

"I'll only be a moment." She said.

The restrooms, though finely equipped, still breathed an air of a lost time. Dust still clung to the aging brick walls and most of the fixtures looked to be older than M herself.

Maggie let the heavy door fall shut behind her. She didn't move for several seconds, listening for any sound. When she heard none, she slipped about on her toes, searching each stall.

Just as she had hoped, the restroom was entirely empty.

Stepping up to one of the mirrors that hung over every sink, Maggie looked straight into her own reflection. She realized her hands were shaking. Not out of fear, but out of excitement. Removing her glasses, she set them carefully down on the edge of the sink. Reaching out, she turned the faucet until a steady stream of water was pouring out and straight into the drain.

Maggie looked again to her reflection. There were still circles under her eyes, a common result of another sleepless night. Her hair, pinned back as always, was beginning to come undone.

Sticking her hand deep into the pocket of her navy trousers, she pulled a single piece of paper out.

It was old and yellowed, creased and folded several times. Since the time she had left home, she always kept in on her person. Clothes and hairstyles had come and gone, but the slip of paper and never left her. Unfolding it, she pulled it tight at both ends and held it up to the light for a better look.

It was her birth certificate.

Her name was there. Margaret Anne Birch. Written in horrendous shorthand by a doctor she never met.

Her parent's names were scribbled underneath. Peter Birch and Melinda Jones.

Maggie had no memory of them and no desire to go searching for them. They had always been nothing to her but names on a page.

Sliding her fingers so that they ran against each side of the middle crease, Maggie pulled until the document was torn in two. She repeated the process again and again, until all that was left of her past was shredded in the palms of her hands.

Holding the pieces in her cupped hands, Maggie guided them under the flow of water. The once crisp, if not thin, pieces sucked in the chilly water. Ink bled out, pouring into the lines of her palms. Once the mess had turned goopy, Maggie pulled her hands apart, letting the soggy remains fall into the drain and out of sight.

Breathing deeply, Maggie cleaned her hands of the ink and stray pieces that clung to her clammy skin. Shaking them dry, she reached for her glasses once more.

Closing her eyes, she set them back in place. Muttering to herself as she did.

"Farewell Maggie," She said aloud, opening her eyes.

She caught her reflection once more. She smirked.

"Hello Q."

* * *

The next three days unfolded much like a raging storm. Regulations, laws and advice flew at Q much like pieces of debris. While the whole of MI6 was still trying to pull together the remains of their operation, it was Q branch that had been hit hardest. Whoever was responsible for the attack had been sure to rightly fry whatever systems the R&D department had managed to piece together. Having been stripped of any concrete security, it was clear to Q that she would have to disregard whatever was left and start from scratch. Q knew that there was a right mess that needing fixing. In spite of it all, she preferred it this way. She could skip over the pretense that she had any intention of working with the old systems employed before her hiring.

Still, the position did not come without its setbacks. Q would have to once again adapt to working with others. Not only did she now have a string of people she was meant to report to, she was also tasked with a flock of agents working for her, waiting for her guidance and commands like attentive children. It had been years since she had undertaken such an endeavor and to her chagrin she realized that her people skills would have to be somewhat refined. But there would always be time for that later.

After meeting with a pair of financial toffs, both of them dressed to the nines and projecting more gloominess than the London skyline, she was given a budget to work with and a harsh warning not to overspend.

Once that was done with, she was ready to meet her team. Roger Fellows had also been picked up. It was explained that while Q would ultimately be in charge and act as the official liaison, Fellows would take a managerial role, so that Q could focus her attentions on building up security and working with agents to ensure that missions went off without any hitches. The original agents under the former Q, a Major Boothroyd, would answer to Fellows while Q would work mainly with the new hires.

* * *

"Tanner to see you, mum."

Of all the agents under her command, Q had come to like Marcus most of all. He was a brilliant young hacker, though he had come fresh from public school. He was the epitome of well mannered, but more importantly, he was quick as a whip and it was his example that the other new agents took to following and Q was grateful to have him around.

"Everything's set on our end." Tanner said, always quick to business.

"Ours as well." Q said, adjusting her glasses.

Tanner held out another thin envelope. "Your instructions for the meeting are enclosed. A car is waiting to take you whenever you are ready."

Q accepted the envelope.

"Thank you."

Only after Tanner had left did Q open the envelope.

_How fitting. _She thought grinning.

* * *

Q had been raised on the arts. Both she and her elder brother had been brought up by her grandparents, though her grandmother had passed away when she was still very young. So it was that her grandfather came to teach her the only way he knew how.

Arthur Birch was a well-known painter. When he wasn't reading or smoking cigars on the ivy encrusted patio of Q's childhood home, he was giving lectures at various schools and selling his paintings to earn a more than modest living. He had taught his grandchildren the ins and outs of painting, though neither child took to it with any real dexterity.

Still they were both terribly fond of art. While her brother took a great liking to color and spectacle, Q found fascination within the endless meanings behind a single brush stroke.

She often attributed her contributions in technical innovation to a childhood bred on creativity. Without her grandfather's guiding hand, she may have never been able to stretch the limitations of her mind as she had.

So it all seemed rather fitting that she would meet the first of MI6's infamous field agents at the National Gallery. She went alone, leaving her men and women to continue the restructuring.

She arrived well before the time printed in her instructions, needing a reprieve from the harsh neon lights and the sound of her own voice snapping out various commands. Using a passcode given to her by Tanner, she entered through the side so as to avoid security guards nosing around the case she carried with her.

With an hour to spare, she walked along and allowed her mind and eye wander pleasantly from painting to painting. She felt safe amongst such brush strokes and the clean smell of freshly polished woods.

Several seconds before the specified time, she made her way to Room 34 as had been noted in her instructions. Stopping just before the entrance, she peered inside.

_And there he is. _

Of the 00's, Seven was the oldest and yet the most successful, at least in the eyes of M. She had been warned by Tanner that 007 was keen to doing things his way and his way only. This was met with both awe and disdain by his fellow agents; it all depended on who you asked. Tanner, ever the loyalist, trusted M, even if he didn't understand.

Q stepped back, gripping the black case in her hand tighter. She had been warned about the field agents. In order to keep them happy, loyal and willing to risk their very lives for their country, they had been coddled and made to feel rather important.

This was to be Q's first consultation. Though she could no more control how she was perceived than she could ultimately control the actions of those risking their lives across the globe, she knew that this first impression could define the rest of her career at MI6.

Either the man would accept her and her position or he would laugh in her face.

_Well,_ Q thought. _Either way…no skin off my teeth. It certainly isn't necessary for them to like me. _

Waiting for a rather loud group of giggling girls to move on, Q stepped into the room.

_Ah,_ She thought approaching the agent. He sat near the center of the room, staring openly at a painting on the wall just across from him.

_The Fighting Temeraire…How appropriate._

Q could remember the painting well. As a child, she had always been drawn to more abstract paintings. Those that depicted light and shadow intermixing and flowing together like one odd entity; her favorite has always been _Nocturne in Black and Gold_, a somber scene depicting the release of fireworks from over Battersea Bridge. Her brother on the other hand favored sprawling landscapes bathed in sun and scenes of action. _The Fighting Temeraire Tugged to her Last Berth To Be Broken Up_ was a particularly vibrant piece and it had always been one of her brother's favorites. When the two siblings would look through their grandfather's books, he would speak often of all the adventures he would go on, all the places he would see.

Their grandfather would laugh and speak words he meant no one to hear: Such is the nature of a boy.

Her elder brother's boyhood musing stuck to him like a sap, only growing more brassy with age. It wasn't long before his restlessness in the countryside became far too great. He left in the night, taking his clothes and tearing out several pages from the art books. When Q and her grandfather had awoken the next morning all they had found was a note left on top of the vandalized books which read: "I couldn't leave without a map."

Abandoning the memories, Q stepped forward and sat herself down next to the one and only 007.

* * *

James Bond stared lazily at the picture in front of him. He could still feel an ache in his bones from three days of tireless testing and he was still reeling from the revelation that he had in fact passed. Fighting the urge, to look to his watch once again, he waited impatiently.

After sometime, he sensed a figure approaching the bench. Looking to his right, he blanched.

It was girl. She was tall but terribly slender, with the shape of knobby stick. She wore a white blouse, tied at the collar with a navy ribbon. Over it was a plaid blazer of navy, black and a deep forest green. She also wore a duffle jacket, a standard issue from MI6 meant to protect from the rain. It was thin, wrinkled and somewhat ill-fitting.

Her hair was dark, thick and pinned back into a flat bun at the back of her head. Her bangs were equally thick and somewhat wavy, they seemed in danger of always slipping over her eyes.

A pair of glasses looked quite right at home high on the bridge of her nose. A serene smile hovered about her face and she looked towards the painting with something Bond could only identify as nostalgia.

Unsure of why the girl had chosen to sit near him, Bond shifted somewhat uncomfortably and thought about moving.

"Always makes me feel a little melancholy." The girl said suddenly, her voice was calculated but lilting. "A grand old war ship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap."

She sighed, as if suddenly overcome by a wave of melancholy.

"The inevitability of time, don't you think?" she questioned, looking to Bond.

"What do you see?" she asked.

"A big bloody ship." Bond said, quite finished with the conversation. "Excuse me."

He had not come to waste time chattering away about the meaning behind old works of drudgery.

Before he could slip away however, the girl called out to him.

"007."

Bond, realizing that this must be another one of M's security ploys, made even more tedious by the attack, fell back down into his seat to await further instructions. He had thought his last partner had been a bit young to be a field agent, but this girl seemed to be fresh from university. Mallory's words echoed tauntingly in the back of his mind, but Bond drowned them out with an exasperated breath.

"I'm your new Quartermaster." She said.

"You must be joking," Bond said, not believing her for a single second.

"Why," she continued, hardly amused. "Because I'm not wearing a lab coat?"

"Because you still have spots," He answered, sardonically.

"My complexion is hardly relevant." She said, still unfazed.

"You competence is." Bond grunted.

"Age is no guarantee of efficiency." She parried.

"And youth is not guarantee of innovation." He countered.

"I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of earl grey than you can do in a year in the field." She said evenly.

"Oh, then why do you need me?" Bond huffed.

The girl paused for just a moment. For a fleeting second, Bond believed he had the snippy youngster beat.

"…Every now and then a trigger needs to be pulled." She offered. Bond was somewhat surprised with her answer. Most of the agents in Q branch seemed strangely detached from the work they did. It was as if the gadgets they made were toys in a grand game. None of them, to even the previous Q seemed to understand that they were manufacturing tools to kill.

Bond looked to her then, drawn to the complete lack of regret in her tone.

"Or not pulled." He said pointedly. "It's hard to know which in your pajamas."

Blinking, she met his gaze. Her eyes were large and rather dark. She seemed to take his jabbing point quite seriously. Still, a ghost of smile never left her face. There was something else, some glean in her eye that made her look far older than her appearance suggested.

_This is M's work. _Bond thought.

Holding his hand out, he offered a proper greeting.

"Q."

She smiled then and accepted his hand.

"007." She said amiably.

With hands locked tight, a sliver of time stood still and the two sized one another up with careful considerations made.

Q turned away, allowing Bond a moment to reflect. The irony of his choice in painting hit home and he grinned wryly at the hand fate had played in this first meeting.

"Ticket to Shanghai." Q said, pulling Bond from his thoughts. "Documentation and passport."

Bond thanked her, pocketing the ticket.

"And this…" Q said, handing him a small black box. Bond opened it.

He wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting, but a gun was certainly a bit of a letdown.

"Walther PPKS 9 millimeter shot." She explained, her eyes cast downwards. "There's a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It's been coded to your palm print so only you can fire it. Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement."

He was impressed, but hard pressed to show it. Q was the new kid on the block (quite literally as far as he was concerned) and it wouldn't be right to bolster her confidence so soon. She did seem rather pleased about the gun, after all.

"And this?" He said, diverting her attention.

She pulled out a minuscule electronic device. "Standard issue radio transmitter. Activate it and it broadcasts your location. Distress signal."

Bond toyed with the radio before setting it into its place I the case.

"And that's it." Q said.

"A gun…and a radio." Bond said, snapping the case shut "Not exactly Christmas is it?"

Q seemed impervious to his complaints.

"Were you expecting an exploding pen?" she said, almost mockingly. "We don't really go in for that anymore. "

The words she refrained from saying hung in the air. _Now that I'm in charge._

She stood rather suddenly and Bond was surprised to find that her movements were more graceful than he had first guessed. At first, he thought she meant to leave him then and there. She stopped however, turning to She gazed down at him

"Good luck out there in the field." She said, almost kindly.

"And, please return the equipment in one piece."

For a moment, Bond suddenly felt as though he was being chastised by a concerned parent.

Q, offering no comforting smile, cheesy quip or even a goodbye, walked away.

* * *

As Q left room 34, her trained hearing picked up on Bond's muttering.

_Brave New World. _

She smiled, thoroughly pleased with herself and her work. The idea for the gun had come to her on her very first day. After struggling to rid her hands of the ink that had sunk into the lines of her palm, Q had stumbled upon the idea for the gun.

With limited resources available and one hell of a timeline, Q had leaned heavily on her team. They had delivered and she had been able to provide 007 with an impressive, albeit contained, first show.

_Brave New World Indeed. _

* * *

Atop a building just opposite the National Gallery, stood a man shrouded in shadow. In his hands he held a rather expensive looking camera. It was a prototype, illegally acquired no doubt, with the ability to send the highest quality images to any computer in the world seconds after they were taken.

His time for awaiting his instructions had come to an abrupt end . A cooing whisper in his ear piece alerted him to the time. He stepped up quickly, immediately snapping picture after picture.

After several quick sweeps with the camera, he is directed to stop. The target has been found. The picture snapping begins in earnest now. In the span of only nine seconds, several dozen pictures have been captured and sent off.

Each image appears in swift succession on to a large screen.

An immaculately dressed man surveys them with unbridled amusement.

_And there she is…_He thinks, fighting off a fit of laughter.

_Such a young thing…_he thought, leaning closer to get a better look.

"Hello little Q," he said aloud, waggling his fingers in front of the screen.

"Let us see what I can find about you…"

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Again, I would love to hear any feedback. Any at all!

Thank you very much for reading. And I hope you will return for the next chapter!


End file.
